


The Magic of Christmas

by kelios



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, J2, Light Angst, M/M, M/M Sex, Magic, The Knight Before Christmas AU, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21949828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelios/pseuds/kelios
Summary: Living in medieval England, Jensen believes he'll never find love--how can he, when the Church and everyone he knows condemns his attraction to other men? But a Christmas gift from an old friend opens the way to something truly magical, and brings him face to face with the man he's meant to be with.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	The Magic of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, @kaelysta mentioned she'd love a J2 AU of The Knight Before Christmas. I've never seen the movie, but I wheedled the basic plot out of a few people and this is my take. 
> 
> Many thanks to @truefiresign10 and @mais_fica for reading through this, offering suggestions, and generally helping me work through plot holes and twists of various shapes and sizes. 
> 
> This work has sections that are mildly unflattering to certain people within the CWRPS universe. If that's not your thing, please consider carefully before reading.

Shivering, Jensen listens to the wind blowing fiercely outside the walls of his family’s home, blinking up at the rafters sleepily in the near total darkness. He can see the red glow of the central hearth through the open doorway, the banked coals giving off little light or heat--just enough to keep the promise of warmth alive through the long, cold English night. The cows are lowing in the adjacent barn, making his horse Impala stamp uneasily alongside them. The lingering smell of dinner makes his stomach growl; everyone was eating a little less as winter progressed, saving food for the upcoming Christmas feast, and Jensen had shared his portion with his little sister MacKenzie. She, along with several others, was due to be wed at the Christmas Eve Mass, and Jensen knew that she would need all her strength. 

A wolf howls in the distance, cold and eerie, and Jensen shivers again, then startles as the night is broken by a loud thumping upon the outer door. 

“Master Ackles! Master Ackles, I demand entrance and comfort!” A woman's voice, querulous and loud, rising above the cold wind.

Jensen groans inwardly and stands. “Don’t get up, Father, I will answer,” he calls quietly, and his father grunts in assent before sinking back into sleep in the main bedroom. His brother Josh doesn’t stir at all, exhausted from his long days as a guard at their Lord’s castle, but his wife, heavily pregnant with their first child and often sleepless, nods her thanks to Jensen as he passes by, scarcely visible in the dim light.

“Old crone,” Jensen says respectfully upon opening the door. The cold air sends a shiver up his spine and he steps out into the night, closing the door behind him that the others might not catch a chill. “How may the Ackles family assist you?” 

“Jensen!” The word comes out slurred, with a lascivious twist that makes him shudder. Jensen knows, intellectually, that the woman before him isn’t actually an old crone--is close to his own age, in fact--but drink and other vices have left her prematurely gray. And her face...Jensen remembers when she was younger and many of the village boys courted her...remembers when her skin began to sag and wrinkle from her excesses. Remembers the horrifying day she’d shown up in the village with her skin stretched and bulging and shiny, drunkenly boasting that her magic had made her young and beautiful again. “I hate when you call me that!” She puts on what she clearly believes is a seductive pout, lips peeling back from yellow teeth, cheeks alternately sunken and bulging grotesquely. “Call me Danneel like you did when we were younger!” 

“Danneel,” Jensen says, trying to be polite for the sake of their younger days of friendship--a friendship that had ended with Danneel's rage when he rejected her advances.“It’s very cold out. What is it you need?”

Danneel titters drunkenly, swaying toward Jensen as though to touch him, and he recoils involuntarily. “I just need someone to walk me home,” she says, batting eyelashes that remind Jensen of nothing so much as spiders gone mad. “It’s so cold...and there are wolves…” As if on cue, a hungry howl arises again, definitely closer this time. 

“Of course,” Jensen says through gritted teeth. “Please step inside where it’s warmer while I gather my armor and sword in case of danger.”

“Ooh, thank you,” Danneel gushes. “Perhaps I could just stay here?” Her face twists into what Jensen realizes with dismay is supposed to be a smile. “I’m sure your bed is very warm.” 

Jensen smiles tightly, reaching for his chain shirt and leather shin guards, grateful that he had gone to bed fully clothed. Danneel had made it clear for many years that she would welcome his attention in ways that he was simply not inclined to accommodate, much to her fury. “It is, and I miss it already. If you will excuse me?” _At least the padding will help keep me warm,_ he thinks wearily, dressing as quickly and quietly as possible while doing his best to keep Danneel from waking everyone. He’s buckling his sword belt around his waist when she stumbles too near the banked fireplace and nearly catches the hem of her gown on fire. 

“Oh dear, thank you,” she simpers when Jensen catches her arm and pulls her away firmly. She sighs dramatically when he releases her immediately. “You know, your family are the only ones in town who never visit me for simples or potions. Why do you stay away, Jensen? Is it because your father knew my mother?” She sniggers phlegmily and Jensen’s stomach turns, bile rising in his throat. 

“My family is blessed with good health,” Jensen says stiffly. "May the Lord continue to bless us." He swings his winter cloak around his shoulders and sends a quick, silent apology to his brother before offering Danneel his to borrow. “We should be going. I’m sure your brother Gino is very worried about you.”

“Oh, Gino,” Danneel scoffs, swaying alarmingly as Jensen leads her back toward the door. Her lack of balance makes him rethink his plan of bringing Impala with them--she’s far too unsteady to ride alone and the thought of riding pillion with her makes his skin crawl. “He’s undoubtedly asleep by now, the lazy lout. A good brother would have come out with me tonight.” She sounds almost wistful, and Jensen recalls that the two of them had been inseparable when they were younger. 

“I’m sure he works very hard at the job your father-in-law gave him,” Jensen says diplomatically, offering his hand as they step through a particularly slippery patch of snow. 

Danneel’s mouth turns down. “Mr. Smith has been very kind,” she says sharply. “Gino and I appreciate his generosity after my husband passed away so suddenly.” 

Jensen winces internally at bringing up a sore subject. Everyone knows that Riley Smith hadn’t passed away so much as passed on--to a new home and wife and family in another village. His father and mother had been outraged by the slight to their family’s honor and declared him dead, taking Danneel and Gino under their protection instead and viewing Gino as something of a surrogate son. 

“But what about you, Jensen?” she says abruptly, changing the subject. “Why have you never married? You could have any woman in the village for your wife.” _Including me_ hangs unspoken in the air, but Jensen hears it nonetheless and anger stirs within as he recalls her anger, the way she had accused him of unnatural desires and acts after his rejection. How close he'd come to being banished from the village altogether, perhaps killed, because she had been unwilling and unable to accept his disinterest in having her body. Only the steadfast support of his parents and Father Christian had saved him from her wrath. 

The memories sting, leading him to regret his charitable impulse more than he'd ever thought possible. Danneel's accusations had ensured that she was not the only person in the village to question why he never courted or married; even as a second son his family is more than prosperous enough for him to wed. And recently the questions and rumblings had resurfaced; once again it’s only been his father’s influence and his brother Josh’s favor with their Lord that has kept some of the more nasty rumors about him from gaining traction. 

“I suppose I’ve just never met the right person,” he says, trying to sound lighthearted rather than bitter. He doesn’t know if the drink has addled her mind to the point she actually doesn’t remember, or if she's pretending that she hadn’t tried to ruin his life. “I’m sure I’ll find someone someday.” 

“You know, I can make sure of that,” she says, but her words oddly lack the edge Jensen has come to expect. They’ve arrived at her home, thankfully, but before Jensen can excuse himself she invites him in. “Please, come in and warm yourself before you return home--not that you _have_ to return home right away…” The words are right, what Jensen expects, but they sound forced now, like an act.

The last thing Jensen wants to do is prolong this miserable evening, but he’s nearly frozen through from the walk and the thought of a few moments by the fire is appealing enough to overcome his reluctance. “I can only stay for a few moments,” he compromises. “I must be at the church very early to help Father Christian prepare for the Christmas Mass.” 

“Of course, of course,” Danneel says distractedly, stirring up the fire a bit. Her demeanor has changed markedly upon stepping into her home. Jensen is surprised to see that it’s neat and well cared for, if somewhat eclectic in decor. There are bunches of herbs drying everywhere, hanging from every available nook and cranny. The air is warm and dry, with a wild, spicy scent that is pungent, but not unpleasant. There is a harp laid carefully near the fireplace, one that Jensen recognizes as belonging to Steven, the town bard, as well as a familiar looking cloak hanging nearby. The room lightens considerably as Danneel touches a bit of tinder to a lamp wick. “Feel free to warm yourself, please...I’ll just be a moment.”

Jensen takes her advice, holding his cold-numbed fingers to the fire’s welcome warmth. There are fresh rushes on the stone and a small, colorful rug underneath the central table where it’s clear that Danneel does most of her work, lending a surprisingly homey air to the dwelling. Right now, though, she’s sorting through a box in the home’s second room, just visible outside the lamp’s circle of light. Jensen can hear her murmur to someone, presumably her brother, and is surprised to hear two voices answer, low and sleepy. 

Lost in thought, Jensen startles when Danneel touches his arm lightly. There’s a marked change in her--she no longer sways drunkenly, her eyes and expression are kind and open. The leering, simpering drunkard who had knocked on his door--this is not that woman, and Jensen’s cold and sleep addled brain struggles to process the difference. 

“Danneel?” 

Danneel smiles at him, a genuine smile that just confuses him more. 

“Come sit for a moment,” she invites, urging him toward one of the empty chairs at her table. “I want to give you something.”

“Oh, no,” Jensen demurs immediately. “I’ve done nothing to warrant a gift. It is our duty to help--”

“You and your family have been kind to me, in your way, over the years--despite my past behavior,” she interrupts quietly. “There have been many times, including tonight, that you could have abused your position--but you never have. My gifts aren’t always precise, but they have always pointed in a single direction for you: away. Away from this village, away from the bias and prejudices of this land. Away from me.” Danneel lays a hand on his, warm despite the chill, and Jensen forces himself not to pull back. “Take this, let it guide you to where you need to go. My mother gave it to me when I became her apprentice and told me I would know when it was time to pass it on. That time is now.” She smiles warmly. "Besides, it's Christmas, Jensen. A time for giving gifts."

Jensen’s jaw clenches as she lays an amulet on the table next to his hand. It’s on the small side, nondescript at first glance--the setting is bronze, the stone lacking the deep sparkle of emerald or ruby or sapphire, the whole thing dangling from a leather cord. But there’s something about it...Jensen looks closer, breath catching at the play of light over the stone. It’s not one color but many, striking in a way that he’s never seen before. He thinks about what it might mean to leave here, to abandon his family. To let his eyes linger on broad shoulders without fear, to be touched by hands as big and strong as his own, worn rough with hard work and skill. 

“How does it work?” he asks abruptly. “Does it glow when I meet hi-whoever it is? Will I have to travel the world?”

Danneel’s shoulders rise and fall. “I don’t know for sure. My mother...you know what happened to her. She didn’t have time to teach me everything. She only said that when the time was right, I should place the cord around my neck and hold the amulet in my hand while thinking about what I truly want. Everything else would become clear.” She laughs ruefully. “I’ve held it many times, and nothing has ever happened; I think that means my life is already what it should be and that my love is already here.” 

“That’s not very helpful,” Jensen says skeptically, eyeing the amulet. He’s already quite certain there’s no one here in this village with the same inclinations that he has, and he's not entirely sure this isn’t some trick to trap into a life he doesn't want and refuses to live. 

Danneel sighs, her face falling. "I know you don't have reason to trust me, Jensen," she says softly. "And I'm sorry for that. I was young and afraid and didn't understand the consequences of the terrible things I accused you of. Not really. But you've been in my thoughts lately, and I realized last night that it was time for me to truly make amends." She picks up the amulet, fiddles with the back until the back opens and a scrap of parchment falls into her waiting hand. "1+1+1 for thee, no ring nor child yet happy be,” she reads with an air of recitation.

“What does it mean?” Jensen asks, curious despite himself. He picks up the tiny bit of paper gingerly, eyes moving over the words, then frowns. “That’s not what it says at all,” he says, eyes narrowing. “It says _Once and back and there again to find true love that has no end.”_

Danneel shrugs again and replaces the scrap, smiling. The firelight is kinder to her features and Jensen can see shadows of the girl he once knew. “It’s magic,” she says simply, and holds it out to Jensen. 

He takes it by the cord, both eager and reluctant to touch it. _There’s no such thing as magic,_ he reminds himself sternly, and slips the black leather over his head. The bronze amulet lands on his chest with a soft thump and he picks it up, fascinated by the shifting colors. Nothing happens for a moment and he feels both triumphant and annoyed with both of them. Then a shock of warmth surges through his fingers, up his wrist and arm and-- “Danneel…?”

The last thing Jensen sees is Danneel’s panicked face before the world disappears in a swirl of color.

“...okay?” The voice is male, deep and soft, rumbling against Jensen’s shoulder. The chest pressed against his back is warm and heavy with muscle and Jensen relaxes into the man’s grip then jerks back instinctively, terrified of betraying himself. The motion makes his head spin and he collapses back against the man's broad chest. He's dizzy, but that might also be the _noise_ \--Jensen has never heard so much noise or seen so many people. The man holding him doesn’t let go, but before Jensen can panic he speaks again. “Easy, man. I don’t know what’s going on but you seem pretty rattled.” 

Jensen turns to look at the man holding him and gasps, recognizing the swirl of color in his eyes--the same as the amulet. “I...where am I?” The words in his mouth feel unfamiliar and harsh, but Jensen can understand them nonetheless, just as he understands the man speaking to him. _Magic,_ he marvels, but he doesn’t have time to think about it. Then another thought strikes, more horrifying. "Is this Hell?"

The man holding Jensen throws his head back and laughs. "Well, Texas isn’t everyone's cup of tea, but I've never heard anyone call it _Hell_ ," he says, chuckling. "I'm Jared, by the way."

"Jensen," Jensen tells him, struggling as unobtrusively as possible to sit up and get away before anything _untoward_ happens. Now that his head is clearing, he can smell Jared's beautiful chestnut hair as it brushes against his face, and it's _clean_. In fact, all of Jared smells clean and fresh, even his clothes, and Jensen both wants the earth to swallow him whole and to cling to this man-- _Jared_ \--forever. 

Jared lets him go this time, settling back on his haunches as he watches Jensen curiously. His hands are huge, with long, slender fingers and clean nails, and Jensen swallows down the _want_ swelling inside him, to feel those hands on his body, to feel those arms--thick with muscle under his thin shirt--close around him again. He forces himself to look up instead, but finds himself just as captivated by Jared's tipped up eyes and soft pink mouth. There's a beauty mark near the corner of his mouth, and Jensen has never wanted anything more than to taste that tiny spot of color.

"Well, Jensen...can you stand? We should get you over to the med tent." 

The magic in Jensen's amulet fails to translate the foreign words. "Med tent?" He feels stupid, but Jared just nods. 

"Yeah, it's not hot enough for you to pass out like that, even wearing that amazing armor. We better make sure there's not something else wrong." Jared stands, and Jensen’s eyes widen. He’s met few men as tall as himself and none taller until now, and his blood quickens with the possibilities. Jensen takes the hand Jared offers him--large, warm, calloused in all the right places--and stands shakily, marveling that his head is scarcely past Jared’s jaw. 

Jared must notice his expression, because he blushes and ducks his head. “We grow them big around here,” he says, slouching self consciously. “Or at least in my family. Come on, this way.” He releases Jensen’s hand slowly, almost a caress, and it’s not just the strange environment that has Jensen’s head spinning. 

And what an environment it is. Jensen has never seen anything like it--scandalously clad women in short pants or skirts with their breasts nearly exposed, or in strange costumes that cover almost nothing. Men in strange mixes of armor, or in no armor at all, just pants long or short, and thin shirts like Jared is wearing. The people are taller than any Jensen has ever seen, and appear healthy and clean. There’s more food than Jensen has ever seen in his life, and his mouth waters at the strange but delicious odors that waft out from the booths they pass. They pass by what appears to be a blacksmithing tent, from what Jensen can see through the throngs of people surrounding the forge. His cheeks flame when he sees that the smith is naked from the waist up, holding a weighted hammer as he talks to the crowd. He’s even more mortified when Jared calls out to him.

“Looking good, Cohen,” he yells, and the smith strikes a pose that pushes the muscles in his arms and chest into even greater definition. The crowd whoops and cheers and Jensen can’t tear his eyes away from the gleaming expanse of skin on display. 

“What is he doing?” Jensen asks, shocked by the man’s wantonness. 

“Ah, that’s just Matt being silly,” Jared assures him. “He works hard on his body, and he likes to show off.” He grins. "And as you can see, the audience loves it." 

“But there are women present! And men!” Jensen doesn’t understand why this man, Matt, hasn’t been arrested yet. 

“Yeah?” Jared looks at him curiously. “Matt doesn’t care who’s looking,” he says with a shrug and another grin. “I mean, he prefers women, but he doesn’t care if someone bats for the homespaceteam. He just likes to be appreciated.”

Jensen just stares at him blankly. “The homespaceteam?” he ventures, confused. 

“Yeah, you know.” Jared waves dismissively. “Gay. Lesbian. Bi. Guys who like other guys, girls who like other girls.” 

“I--” _Isn’t that illegal?_ Jensen wants to ask. _Isn’t he afraid for his life?_ This is a very strange place, and Jensen doesn’t know what to make of anyone, including his patient guide. 

“Here we are,” Jared interrupts, stopping in front of a white tent with a large red cross on the front. It reminds Jensen of the knights that sometimes pass through his village, powerful figures blessed by God to do his work, and he feels slightly relieved that a _med tent_ is apparently just a temporary church. Jared pulls back a large flap and enters, motioning to Jensen to come in as well. “Hey Mikey, get out here! I need you to come take a look at my friend Jensen here!” 

Jensen looks around half curious, half afraid as Jared leads him to a low bench draped in white cloth. The air smells sharp and harsh--nothing like the familiar, comforting smells of Danneel’s home or the incense of the village church, and the stark white of the floor, the walls, the… _everything_ only adds to Jensen’s unease. 

“Mike!” Jared yells this time, and Jensen hears frantic whispers from behind what he’d thought was the back wall. Instead, another flap opens and a head pokes through--bald, male, with pale blue eyes that remind Jensen of the ice sheets that sometimes form on the river in the coldest winters. 

“Uh, Jay. My man. Can you give me just a sec?” He ducks back behind the flap again and the whispering intensifies, along with low, feminine giggling and the rustling of clothing.

Jensen stares after him, appalled. “Does the priest have a _woman_ with him?” he asks incredulously, and turns red when Jared laughs in astonishment.

“Priest?” Jared shakes his head. “No way, man. Mikey’s just an EMT. Studying to be a nurse. And yeah, most likely Sandy’s back there with him.” He winks conspiratorially. “Helping him study, I’m sure.”

Jensen doesn’t know what to make of this situation. Jared is attractive, there’s no doubt. And he’s been kind and patient with Jensen’s obvious shortcomings. But there’s too much here he doesn’t understand. Why did the amulet bring him here? Was it some sort of trick on Danneel’s part? Would he wake up in the stocks, waiting on Father Christian to pronounce his execution? Jensen’s hand falls to the hilt of his sword for comfort as his breathing falters and the world begins to go dim around the edges. The man--the priest? The EMT? The witch?--comes out of the back room and Jensen can barely hear Jared talking to him through the sudden pounding of his heart, echoing in his ears. The last thing he registers as his knees give way is Jared calling his name in alarm. 

Everything is white when Jensen wakes up. The walls, the ceiling, the rickety bed he’s lying on. He tries to sit up, alarmed and confused, but the room spins around him until a hand, large and warm, lands on his shoulder and he suddenly remembers. 

“Jared?” 

“Hey, Jensen. You really had us worried there for a bit.” Jared’s voice is low and calm, but Jensen can hear the undercurrent of worry and stress running through the words. “Mike thinks you maybe had a panic attack. Can you sit up?”

Jensen nods and sits up with Jared’s help. “I’m sorry,” he says, horribly embarrassed. He can’t imagine what Jared must think of him fainting like a girl. 

“Hey, it happens,” a new voice says, and Jensen starts slightly. It’s the priest of medicine, and his voice is deep and smooth, soothing almost. “I need to ask you a few questions, Jenny boy,” he says cheerfully. He ignores both Jensen’s scowl and his raised eyebrows when he approaches Jensen on some sort of wheeled chair that squeaks unbearably. “First things first. I need you to sign these forms so that we can talk and I can treat you.” 

Jensen stares at the marks on the paper, brow furrowed. He _can_ read and write, his mother had insisted upon it, but apparently the amulet’s magic doesn’t extend to the written word. 

“Right here, Jensen,” Jared says gently, and points to a line. “I promise, Mike won’t do anything that will hurt you.” Jensen nods jerkily and grasps the strange writing utensil clumsily, looking about for an ink pot. He sees Jared and the priest exchange a look, then Jared wraps his hand around Jensen’s carefully. “Like this.” Jared helps him draw a _J_ and Jensen realizes gratefully that the pen is already inked. He laboriously spells out the rest of his name _Jensen Ackles_ and hands the strange pen and paper back to the priest. 

“Okay, good.” The priest blows out a breath. “My name is Mike,” he says. “And the first thing I need to know is if you’re on any medications. Anything at all, even vitamins.”

Jensen stares at him blankly. “Medications?”

“Simples, Jensen. Potions, remedies. Are there any that you take every day?” Jared is still speaking in that calm, strained voice, and Jensen suddenly notices that his sword and belt have been removed. A quick twist of his ankle tells him that his boot knife is also gone, and anger begins to stir inside him. 

“No.” Jensen’s voice is clipped, angry. “My family is renowned for our good health. We have no need of such things, may the Lord continue to bless us.” He turns to Jared. “Where are my belongings? My sword, my knife?” 

Another look, and Jared holds his hands up placatingly. “They’re safe, Jensen. We just thought it would be safer and more comfortable if they were put away until you woke up.” 

“Are you thieves, then?” Jensen growls. He feels like an idiot for trusting this man he doesn’t know and his priest friend, for believing in Danneel’s ridiculous magic. “Return my property at once. My family--”

“Jensen, they’re right over here.” Jared points to another table, several feet away. “You looked like you were getting ready to draw your sword earlier, right before you passed out, and we didn’t want you to hurt yourself.” He takes a deep breath, steps away to grasp the hilt of Jensen’s sword in one huge hand, his belt in the other. “Of course you can have them back if you need them.” 

Jensen glances at the priest--Mike--and is surprised to see that his face is white and set with fear. It’s not hard to figure out that they’re afraid of _him_.

_They think I’m mad,_ he realizes, probably because of the fit he’d had earlier. Of course Jared had taken his weapons, though Jensen is reasonably sure he could escape, possibly kill them both even unarmed, despite Jared’s size. But now...Jared is offering him his weapons back despite his belief. Trusting him. The least he can do is return the favor. 

Jensen pulls in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I apologize for my behavior,” he says formally. “Of course you would disarm someone you think mad. Please put your minds at ease--keep the weapons on the table and tell me what I can do to convince you that I am sound.”

The way Jared's jaw drops might be funny under different circumstances, but Jensen just wants to get this over with. Mike sputters for a few moments, then pulls himself together. 

"You've got yourself a live one here, Jay," he mutters, then straightens up to face Jensen. "Alright, well...you say you aren't taking any medication and you never get sick. What about food? When was the last time you ate?" 

Jensen thinks. "I don't know," he admits. "I don't know how long it took me to get here or how long Jared has been playing my guide. But I did eat supper the evening that I...left." 

Mike nods. “Okay...well, this might be a case of low blood sugar or something. But just to be sure, I want to give you a basic physical--listen to your heart and lungs, draw some blood and hair. Make sure there’s nothing wrong before we turn you loose on the food court.” 

To Jensen’s surprise, Jared seems displeased. He pulls Mike aside as Jensen watches in confusion. Mike’s requests for blood and hair seem perfectly normal to Jensen--any crone or priest or healer worth his or her salt would ask for the same with which to work their magic. Jensen clears his throat, interrupting their heated discussion. 

"I don’t mind giving my blood and hair to the healer, Jared,” he says politely when they turn back to him. “It’s a common enough request--how else will he work his magic to determine if I am ill in some way and to release the demon of madness? If indeed one has possessed me.” 

Jared looks even more concerned and baffled. Jensen appreciates his concern, but right now really just wants to get this done with and go find the food court. It seems likely that he can get something to eat there, and none of the people he’s seen so far appear malnourished. Quite the opposite; Jensen has never seen a group of people as well fed as the crowds he and Jared had passed on the way here, not to mention the veritable mountains of food that Jared himself must consume daily. 

Jensen thrusts his arm toward Mike impatiently. “Here, take as much as you need. I have been bled before as a precaution during plagues, and I have been wounded many times. I will not faint away at the sight of my own blood.” 

"Jensen, you don’t understand.” Jared glares at Mike, who is moving toward a box of equipment, seemingly unrepentant and satisfied with Jensen’s permission. “This is a complete invasion of your privacy. Mike has no right to be asking you for these things.” 

“I’m not taking any chances, Jay,” Mike says stubbornly. “Jensen would you mind taking off your armor, padding, and undershirt? I’d like to listen to your heart and lungs.” 

Blood rushes to Jensen’s cheeks at the thought of being naked before Jared. “I…” 

“It’s just for a few minutes,” Mike says, shrugging. “And I don’t have to if you don’t want. I can get the blood samples and hair samples without it.” 

“I would rather not,”Jensen says, relieved to be allowed some dignity. 

“No problem, then. Just roll up your sleeve…” Mike briskly begins to roll up the edge of Jensen’s tunic, tugging and pushing until the fabric is bunched around his elbow, then begins wiping at the thin skin with a cold and wet square of cloth that quickly turns black with grime. He wrinkles his nose. “Dude, no offense, but when is the last time you had a shower?” 

“A shower?” 

“He means a bath,” Jared clarifies. He’s watching Jensen closely for signs of discomfort, and Jensen’s heart warms a little at the attention. “Mike ought to know that bathing was considered dangerous and unhealthy for much of Western history.” 

“There’s a little realism, and then there’s _this_ ,” Mike mutters under his breath. He has a white cylinder with an alarmingly sharp metal point. “This is going to pinch a little, don’t worry it’ll all be over in a sec…” 

Jensen barely feels the prick of the metal tube, eyes widening in fascination as his blood flows into the white cylinder cleanly and efficiently. Mike switches out the cylinder a few times until there are four tubes of his blood, neatly labeled and ready to be used, then he swipes away the remaining blood and covers the wound with a small piece of adhesive cloth. Jensen flexes his elbow and the cloth remains in place, much to his amazement. “Now hold still just a sec…” A quick snip with his scissors and Jensen’s hair is tucked away in a small, clear bag. “Alright. We’re all done. Jay, a word?” 

It’s obvious that Mike thinks he’s being quiet, but Jensen can hear every word. 

“I should have the results back tomorrow. Tom owes me a solid, and so does Sophia. I know you’re not happy about this, but you need to know what this guy is on, or what he’s been on, or what he should be on.” 

Jared’s lips thin, but this time he doesn’t argue. “He clearly can’t consent, Mike. This isn’t right. We need--” 

“He’s in no shape to tell us who is family is, Jay. Obviously there’s someone out there taking care of him--that costume is museum quality--but until he’s back on an even keel…” 

Jared sighs. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I’ll talk to him, try to parse out who his family might be. But he’s so far under right now, I’m not sure any of it will make sense.” 

Mike rubs a hand over his head, seemingly as unhappy as Jared is. “This whole situation is messed up. Ask if we can take some pictures, I’ll have Candi run them through the missing persons database too. I’m serious about those clothes, Jay. The hand stitching and design--that's museum quality work, not to mention that sword. That’s not recreation steel. That thing’s seen some use--” 

“You do know that I can hear you, yes?” Jensen interrupts, mildly annoyed. “I will answer any questions about my family, and my...clothes, but I would prefer to eat before sitting for a painting.” He looks at Jared with what he hopes is a suitably beseeching expression. “The food sellers we passed smelled delicious, and I am eager to try some of their wares.” 

“You don’t have to sit for a painting, dude,” Mike says, rolling his eyes. “Hold on a sec.” 

Mike pulls out a small black device and points it at Jensen, who eyes it warily, wondering what he’s going to do with it and how such a box can record his likeness. Bright light flashes in quick succession and Jensen recoils, shaking the spots from before his eyes. 

“What is that infernal thing?” he demands as Mike clucks in annoyance. 

“Jay, go stand next to him, hold him still. He’s moving around too much, the pictures are all blurred.” 

Jared slings his arm around Jensen’s shoulder. “It won’t hurt you,” he murmurs, his breath warm on the shell of Jensen’s ear. “Just hold still.” 

Jensen does his best to stay perfectly still, terrified of betraying the effect Jared’s closeness has on his body. 

“I can feel your heart pounding,” Jared whispers again. His nose brushes through the soft, short hairs above Jensen’s ear, his lips brush the delicate skin, and what little blood hasn’t rushed to Jensen’s cock floods his face. He wants nothing more than to lean into Jared’s embrace, turn his head slightly until his mouth finds Jared’s, but he doesn’t dare. The results of being wrong about Jared and about this world, wherever it may be, could be catastrophic. He takes a deep, trembling breath instead, Jared’s clean fresh scent filling his nose and sending a tiny shudder up his spine. “I promise, it’s okay.” 

Jensen barely notices the bright lights this time, too focused on where Jared is touching him. He wants this to be real, wants to believe that Danneel and her magic had sent him to the person he was meant to be with. When Jared moves away he feels cold despite the unnaturally warm weather and the warmth of his cloak, and he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to recenter himself. 

“Alright!” Jared claps his hands briskly. “Jensen, it’s warm outside...would you like to leave your cloak here?” He holds his hands up to ward off Jensen’s protests before he can voice them. “I promise that everything will be right here when you return.” 

“Make sure you peace knot his sword if he’s taking it with him,” Mike says absently, staring into his little black box. “Hey Jenny, you and Jay look good together.” He turns the box around and Jensen gasps. 

“Magic,” he breathes, eyes wide. He feels a bit foolish--obviously magic exists, Danneel’s magic had sent him here, but this...He’s never imagined anything like this, this crystal clear likeness. His eyes trace the line of Jared’s arm around his shoulder, the way Jared’s face is turned into his. It’s intimate in a way that Jensen has never experienced, never thought he could experience and it warms him to the core. “How…?” 

“It’s not magic, really,” Jared says, smiling at him fondly. “We call it technology. Why don’t we talk about it over lunch?” 

Jensen nods, his head spinning with all the new information he’s acquired and with Jared’s nearness. He unfastens the pin holding his cloak around his shoulders and lays them both carefully on the table next to his sword and knife. “I want to know everything,” he says, smiling up at Jared, and he’s pleased to see that Jared looks slightly pole-axed in returned, pleased at the thought that the attraction he feels might go both ways. 

The air is slightly cooler outside the tent, a welcome change. Jensen has never seen weather this warm, especially this near Christmas, and he wonders, abruptly, if this world even _has_ Christmas. He sees no crosses or mangers or icons, and the people are so scandalously unclothed that Jensen wonders if the Church exists here at all. 

"In my world," he says, trying to be casual, "we are preparing for a holiday. Christmas. Do your people celebrate a mid-winter holiday?” 

“Do we celebrate Christmas?” Jared laughs. “Jensen, Christmas is the biggest holiday of the year for most people. Gifts, family dinners, Christmas trees--you bet we celebrate. There’s not a lot of decoration here because we went with a different theme this year, but trust me. Off the fair grounds you can’t get _away_ from Christmas.” He pauses, smiling softly. “Maybe I’ll show you around in a day or two, yeah? Take you down to the River Walk so you can see all the lights. You’ll love it.” 

Jensen breathes deep with relief. Perhaps this world isn’t so different as to be unliveable. The smell of cooking meat and an embarrassingly loud growl from his stomach distracts him from their conversation. “But we can have lunch first?” 

Jared’s laugh lights up his whole face, and Jensen doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of seeing it. “Right this way, sir,” he says, guiding Jensen toward a pavilion filled with benches and tables. A few people appear to be eating--a tavern of some sort, Jensen guesses. He can already see that this place is not permanent, more like a gypsy camp than a settlement. Jared leads him to the source of the delicious smells where a woman so scantily clad that Jensen fears she might do herself an injury near a hot stove is waiting for them. 

“Rosalind, my sweet.” Jared greets her with a bow. “Two of your house specials for me and my friend Jensen if you don’t mind. And two mugs of your finest ale.” 

The barmaid graces Jared with a pleased smile, dropping into a curtsy so low her ample breasts threaten to explode from her bodice. “Of course. It’s always a pleasure to see you in our fine establishment, Lord Jared. Shall I put it on your tab?” She busily pushes a few buttons on the box before her, then extends yet another small box toward Jared. They’re chatting about something, but Jensen’s mind doesn’t parse the words, stuck on the knowledge that Jared is a _Lord_. He doesn’t dress like any Lord Jensen has ever met, but Jensen hasn’t met many over the years. One thing he’s sure of, though. No titled Lord would ever look twice at someone like Jensen, someone with a bit of money put aside but no pedigree to speak of. He pushes down his disappointment, reminding himself that he’d never really expected to find love anyway. _You can’t lose something you never had,_ he tells himself, and determines to enjoy what friendship he might find with Jared anyway. 

“Hey, what’s with the long face?” Jared asks curiously as he leads Jensen to a table. “Is something wrong?” 

“No, my Lord,” Jensen says hurriedly. “Thank you for providing me with lunch. I don’t have any coin with which to repay you, but I can offer my service while I am here.” 

Jared stares at him blankly. “Lord?” 

“The barmaid,” Jensen explains. “She called you Lord Jared, and you gave her no coins for our meal.” 

To Jensen’s dismay, Jared flops face first onto the table, his shoulders shaking. “Oh my God,” Jensen hears, muffled and broken with laughter. Jared lifts his head, tears running down his face. “Jensen, I’m not a lord. The employees here at the fair call _everyone_ lord. It’s part of the fun. And I did pay her--but we don't use coins here. We have other forms of payment.” 

“I don’t understand,” Jensen says helplessly. He feels foolish, stupid and slow and confused. “What _is_ this place?” 

“It’s called a renfaire,” Jared explains, sobering instantly at Jensen’s frustration. “That’s short for Renaissance Faire. People come together and pretend to be from the past, when people…” He hesitates. “Well, when people dressed and spoke like you. It’s not all accurate, but no one really expects it to be--it’s all just supposed to be fun.” 

“The past,” Jensen says slowly. “You mean that this is my future.” 

“Well, maybe,” Jared says diplomatically. “Why don’t you tell me your story while we wait for our food?” 

Jensen nods slowly, thinks about where to start. “I was born on the outskirts of Winchester, England,” he says carefully, watching Jared’s reaction. “I don’t know the year, but Henry Plantagenet was crowned King a few days before my birth. My father was captain of the guard for Lord Murray and was blessed to be present for the coronation. My brother Josh followed in our father’s footsteps, destined to take his place one day. I have...well, I have done many things. I have been a soldier, a steward, a groundskeeper, a huntsman, a bookkeeper.” He shrugs. “One day I will take over running our family’s home from our father, but until that day I do what is required.” Jensen pauses as Rosalind sets steaming platters of food on the table before them, winking at Jared and leaning forward to give him a better view of her cleavage. 

“Let me know if you need anything else, my lord,” she purrs, and Jensen feels a twinge of completely irrational jealousy. Perhaps something shows on his face, because Jared shocks him by taking his hand, thumb running over Jensen’s knuckles in what can only be a caress. 

“Oh, we will,” Jared assures her with a wink of his own--but his is aimed at Jensen. Rosalind sighs and flounces back to her counter, leaving Jensen to flounder in confusion. 

“Sorry,” Jared murmurs, releasing Jensen’s hand with one final stroke. “Rosalind is a sweet girl, but she tends to forget that we’ve had this conversation before.” The emphasis on _forget_ makes Jensen suspect she does nothing of the sort. “She knows I prefer guys, but some women just don’t like to take no for an answer.” 

“I hope there’s no poison in our meal,” Jensen jokes weakly. He can still feel the phantom touch of Jared’s hand, wishes he hadn’t let go so quickly. “Ah...what is this?” There’s bread, Jensen thinks, and some sort of meat, round and flat. And some sort of sticks? Golden and greasy and hot, steam rising from them in little wisps. 

“Burger and fries,” Jared says through a mouthful. “Uh...I guess you’ve probably never seen a potato, huh? Go ahead, try one. You’re gonna love it.” 

Jensen picks up one of the sticks and cautiously takes a nibble off the end. His eyes widen in shock, and he quickly shoves the whole thing in his mouth, moaning slightly at the salty, creamy taste. “Oh my God,” he says thickly around a mouthful of _fries_. Jared laughs delightedly and pushes the fries from his plate onto Jensen’s. 

“Wait til you try the burger,” he advises, and waves to catch Rosalind’s eye. She bustles over, nodding as Jared requests another plate and taking a small card from him. Jensen dives into the fries from Jared’s plate, scarcely chewing them before swallowing more. He knows his manners are terrible, but he’s never tasted anything so delicious in his life, and he can’t remember when he had so much food available to eat at once. Between his plate and Jared’s there’s more food on the table than he normally eats during an entire day, and the previous weeks of light eating have left him hungrier than he’d known. 

“Jen, hey man, slow down,” Jared says fondly after a moment. “You don’t want to make yourself sick. And you still owe me a story.” 

Jensen nods, pausing to lick the salt and grease from his fingers, then blushing as he sees Jared wipe his mouth and hands with the small piece of cloth that came with their platters. He mimics the action, then turns his eyes to the _burger_. 

“There’s not much to tell,” he says, clumsily picking up the burger. His eyes slip closed in bliss as he takes a bite, the mix of flavors like nothing he’s ever encountered before. “How do you make such delicious food?” he asks after he swallows. “I’ve never eaten anything so wonderful.” 

“You first,” Jared says firmly. “I’ll tell you what I can once I know how you got here. I have a feeling it’s a pretty incredible story.” He starts eating his own burger, grabbing a few fries from the new plate that Rosalind brought out for them. 

“Well...everything was normal. Ordinary. We were preparing for the Christmas Feast, and the Christmas Eve Mass where my sister MacKenzie is to be married. Then, last night…” 

Jensen tells Jared the story of Danneel knocking on his door, giving him the amulet, the flash of light. He leaves out the reason for Danneel’s guilt, the pleasure of finding himself in Jared’s arms, his certainty that Jared is his true love. He’s been hiding who he is for too long to simply give himself away so easily. 

“That’s.. Well, that’s incredible,” Jared says when Jensen finally winds down. The plates are clean, the ale consumed. Jensen feels like he’s been talking for hours, but a quick glance at the slanting sun shows it hasn’t been as long as he’d feared. “I’d like to check something, if you don’t mind.” He pulls a small box out of his pocket, similar to the box Father Chad had used, and pushes a few buttons. He stares for a moment, reading, Jensen thinks, nodding and biting his lip. “I looked up Henry Plantagenet, just to double check my memory--he took the throne of England in 1154.” He hesitates. “Based on your story, Jensen...you were born nearly a thousand years ago.” 

“She sent me into the future,” Jensen says wonderingly. “All of this…this world of wonders is what Josh and MacKenzie’s children and grandchildren will have to look forward to.” He leans forward, suddenly curious. “Does your magic box say anything about my family?” 

“I don’t see anything,” Jared says, shaking his head. “It might take a little more time, but I know some people I can talk to. I’ll find out what I can. In the meantime, why don’t we take a look around?” He grins, making Jensen’s heart skip a quick beat. “I’ll introduce you to everyone and you can tell us what we’re doing wrong.” 

The words could be mocking, but there’s nothing malicious in Jared’s expression. Still, Jensen reaches over hesitantly and takes his hand. “I know that you think I’m mad,” he says quietly, earnestly. “Now that I have some idea where--and when--I am, I don’t blame you. I would think the same were our positions reversed. But please, give me a chance to prove to you that I’m telling the truth. Give me the chance to prove myself, that I--” Jensen cuts himself off, afraid of revealing too much. He’ll have to tell Jared eventually, or so he hopes, but not now. Not yet. First, he has to make Jared believe. 


End file.
